


fever pitch

by fated_addiction



Category: K-pop, Mamamoo, Real Person Fiction, 우리 결혼했어요 | We Got Married
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: They actually haven’t had the conversation. You know – the ‘oh my god, we might have actual FEELINGS for each other and this is a variety show that ends at some point, so –’ conversation.
Eric decides to tackle his feelings before the jungle. His sister-in-law has some sage advice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> No excuse for this outside of I DON'T FEEL WELL AND WANTED TO WRITE FLUFF.
> 
> Because it's healthier than a cupcake.

-

 

 

 

They actually haven’t had the conversation. 

You know – the ‘oh my god, we might have actual FEELINGS for each other and this is a variety show that ends at some point, _so_ –’ conversation that no one ever confirms or denies that they’ve had except a lonely Nichkhun interview (he’s seen the clips on YouTube) and Seo In Young who, by all accounts, has never really cared about anything in her career but objective honesty. It’ll come, he’s been warned, and has _actually_ seen, since everyone forgets his stint as a We Got Married panelist way back when.

People still pass advice to him. “Wait for the trip,” Jonghyun warns him. They have dinner once a month; he taps his head and sighs, grinning wistfully. “The trip is really what sets it into motion. You’re way too excited that you’re, you know, _dating_ and even though it’s weird and like a television show – you’re still dating in a public setting.”

“And then the trip,” Eric laughs nervously.

Jonghyun nods, reaching for his beer. “And then the trip,” he says.

Dubai happens soon after.

 

 

 

 

 

When the cameras turn off in Dubai, it’s long after they decide to go to bed. Or pretend to. Whatever.

They are methodical. Wait an hour. Solar calls her members and updates them on what they’ve done so far. He hears muffled shrieks of laughter from his bed, situated next hers. There is a wall between them, but it’s thin. The noise is nice and he thinks in footage hours; the trip won’t go as fast.

Then there is a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” he calls, turning on his light. He reaches for his glasses, smiling when she steps in. She shuts the door quietly, even though they both know that the staff has the room across the hall.

He sits up in bed when she sits down next to him, sighing dramatically. He’s been watching the news and soccer. Immediately, Solar reaches for the remote and changes it to a movie on the children’s network.

“I was watching that,” he chides and she snorts, peeking up at him, her eyes half-closed and sleepy. “Okay,” Eric feels his mouth twitch, “I wasn’t – but what about soccer?”

“Boring,” she says. Her fingers flick against his arm. “Did you call anyone?”

“No.”

Solar shifts onto a pillow. It takes him a minute, but he realizes she is wearing one of his hoodies. He reaches over and pulls at one of the drawstrings, ignoring the weird, little flutter that wiggles into his throat when she smiles up at him.

“The kids are the only ones up at this hour,” he says dryly, and Solar laughs, shaking her head.

“That’s true,” she says too. She lets him change the channel back to soccer.

Eric can’t find anything else to say. It’s a problem. Sometimes he feels like it only happens here with her, in these smaller moments, when there is no need to fill any of the space. Solar – Yongsun, he tells himself, _Yongsun_ – is surprisingly comfortable in these moments. It still throws him off; mostly, he thinks he still clings to her public persona for some kind of sense of normal.

So they sit like this. Occasionally, he finds himself looking over at her, catching her eyes closing as she starts to drift, or how she suddenly shifts closer to him and how his hand impulsively reaches over and tangles a finger around the drawstring of her sweatshirt.

“You’re frowning.”

Solar’s eyes are open. Eric startles himself; his face is hot.

“Soccer,” he says weakly.

“You haven’t even been paying attention to the game.”

“Not _true_ ,” he protests.

She snorts. “What’s the score?” and her expression changes to amusement, just as his mouth opens and nothing comes out. “Thought so,” she says gleefully. “You’re the worst at lying.”

“I’m not lying!”

Solar holds up her fingers. “Just a little.”

“Okay, maybe like a smidge.” Eric laughs and eases back into his pillows, looking down at her. He flicks her nose. “You’re a nerd.”

“But you like it,” she sings and her voice colors softly. Each word sounds like a low hum and her lashes start to lower.

It’s almost instantaneous. He looks at her mouth – pointedly, because he can’t help it, and there are these knots that start to crawl into his stomach, tightening as she returns his gaze.

This hasn’t been the easiest journey. It’s the only thing he’s thought about since they’ve started. He’s habitually warm. It makes it easier to make friends, transition around in the industry, go after things and grow. He’s always said this. He’s always attached it to any sort of advice he finds himself giving. But Solar has thrown him into this loop that he doesn’t understand and finds himself going further and further away from understanding.

He always says this: she’s a mystery, maybe even the biggest mystery he’s come face to face with. It seems strange within the industry. Everyone has a guise and sticks to it, but the more he finds out things about her, small things, large things, she seems to weave herself out of those norms he’s come to depend on. This is easier to admit to than feelings are; he knows those are there too.

It’s terrifying. “I like a lot of things about you,” he says then. Louder than he intends to. He smiles awkwardly when she laughs, watching as she turns to rest on her stomach next to him and away from the television. “I keep finding things that I like about you too,” he murmurs.

“That’s a good thing.” Her voice softens and he no longer hides behind the television – at least, in his mind. She narrows her eyes. “You’re being weird though.”

“Am I?”

Solar rolls her eyes. “You are.” Her fingers flick his nose and he laughs, half-heartedly pushing her hand away. “Since coming back from the desert and stuff – you’ve just been weird.”

His mouth opens and closes. 

“It’s not that…”

“ _See_ ,” she insists. “Weird.”

Eric groans, rubbing his eyes with a hand. He rolls flat onto his back, skewing his arm to cover his eyes and his embarrassment.

“I’m not being weird,” he mutters.

“Then what do you call it?”

“I’m just –” _Thinking_ , he doesn’t finish. His mind tries to wrap around the conversation. “I’m thinking about the timeline,” he finishes quickly and his voice waivers. He means to be light-hearted, but he sounds weak and his fingers dig together into a fist.

“Oh.” Solar’s voice echoes. He feels the bed shift.

“I don’t mean to drag everything down.”

“We were going to have to have this conversation at some point,” she says quietly and he looks up, underneath the weight of his arm, sneaking a peek at her. “I mean, this show is fairly direct about its timeline and scheduling and… you’re going to the jungle in a couple of weeks too, right?”

“That’s not going to affect shooting with you,” he says.

His arm drops. She is looking down at him. Her mouth twists into a half-smile, way too serious for her, and it just feels strange.

Solar shrugs. “It might not be that,” she replies. “But it’s going to be something else. And it might not be you, it could be me too – it’s the way all of this works, you know?” She laughs a little and it sounds sad. “It’s how it’s supposed to work anyway – at least that’s what they say.”

“We’re not going to lose touch,” he murmurs and his voice waivers. He nearly kicks himself because she looks amused. “If that’s what you’re worried about,” he adds.

“Things happen.”

“Yah.” He pokes her forehead, trying to lighten the mood. This is your fault, he thinks sourly. “It doesn’t mean –”

“That we won’t try?” Her voice softens. “I hope you will. I hope _I_ will. But it doesn’t mean that –”

She trails off and shrugs. He searches her gaze. He doesn’t know for what. He typically sees her as the rest of the world does – bright, often insistent, and fiercely protective of her members. But these small glimpses of something else, of Yongsun and not _Solar_ , mess with his head. He can’t categorize her. It becomes more and more clear as they do this.

“Sure,” he says finally. “You’re right.”

His mouth twists into something that sort of resembles a smile, but he doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure, himself or her. He doesn’t feel any sort of relief.

Reaching over, he brushes his fingers against her face. He touches her cheek and she stares back at him, unflinchingly. He feels awkward and confused; part of him needs to know what she’s thinking because it would be easier. It would be easier to move forward and have the kind of conversation that they need to have.

Instead, he chickens out.

“We should sleep.”

Her expression changes and she smiles, gently peeling his fingers away from her face. Her hand is warm.

“You’re right,” she says, and untangles from the bed.

Somehow, it makes him feel guiltier than ever.

 

 

 

 

 

They share a beer at the airport.

The staff films about an hour of them teasing each other. They wrap that up and he escorts her to the bathroom before they board the plane, leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone. He tries and focuses on the simple things: this was an amazing opportunity, Dubai was beautiful, and he hasn’t felt this itch in a long time, the kind of itch to travel and see places, to take her along and be adventurous. He starts thinking of places he’d like her to see.

“They _must_ be ending soon.” A staff member passes him with another, neither noticing Eric standing outside the bathroom. “This is the biggest trip we’ve done and trips are usually –”

She’s cut off because the other staff member notices Eric. He smiles awkwardly and shifts Solar’s bag around his fingers, tucking it back underneath his arm.

It feels normal.

And then it doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

A few days before he goes to the jungle, Moonbyul texts him – like actually _texts_ him and he has no idea what to do because out of the three of Solar’s members, Moonbyul is the one that terrifies him the most.

_I’m in your neighborhood. Coffee._

He doesn’t have to read the message twice to know the coffee shop she’s talking about. He remembers something about her mentioning her brother living in the same neighborhood, but can’t pinpoint what it is exactly; it’s more the fact that she has his number and he feels like he’s about to get hit by a brick.

Luckily, he arrives early enough to order both their coffees. Remembers that Moonbyul likes sweet stuff, but not insanely sweet. Then he picks a table by the window so that she can find him easily. And, you know, there are witnesses. Just in case.

She arrives ten minutes after him, also early.

“This is _weird_ ,” he blurts.

Moonbyul takes the seat across from him and picks up a coffee.

“I drew the short straw,” she tells him. “Hyejin and Wheein wanted to come. But they would have probably dumped your body in the alley and gotten caught.” Her gaze is sharp when she smiles. “I’m more of a fan of natural selection – since you’re going to the jungle and all.”

Eric swallows. The question hangs between the two of them: _what did you do, you moron?_ She sips her coffee calmly, allowing the air to settle. Or give him the opportunity to say something stupid – he’s not really sure.

“Did she tell you?” he asks tentatively, leaning back in his seat. His leg starts to shake and he looks away, picking a corner of the floor to stare at and swallow.

“No.” Moonbyul waves a dismissive hand. “She didn’t tell us anything. But she’s someone who gets quiet when she’s upset and is really bad at acting normally. So.”

His stomach sinks and his gaze snaps back to Moonbyul. He watches as she leans into the table, resting her chin on her hand.

“I stole her phone and got your number,” she adds.

“Crafty.”

She shrugs. “More like necessary.”

He expects an onslaught of questions, but Moonbyul seems content in waiting for him to say something or start the conversation. He’s not even remotely close to knowing what he’s supposed to say; apologies seem like the right direction, but he also doesn’t know what to apologize for. He hates that he’s hurt Yongsun. That the reason that Moonbyul is here is because he’s hurt Yongsun and there is no other way around any of that.

“I brought up the conversation,” he says awkwardly. He looks away, his face flushing. “You know – what’s going to happen after stuff ends on the show and what not.”

“Did you say that exactly?”

Eric bites his lip. “No,” he mutters. He groans too. “I sort of started to and then ended up avoiding it, but she was –”

“More realistic than you thought she’d be?” Moonbyul cuts in, amused. “It sounds like her.”

“I didn’t mean to –”

Moonbyul holds up a hand. “Look,” she says. “I’m going to give you some free advice because I like you and, more importantly, Yongsun eonni likes you more than she’d care to admit. And I think you like her just as much. But the two of you are dumb enough to put yourself here.”

“That’s the advice?” he jokes weakly.

“The jungle, dude. Think of the jungle.” 

He laughs a little because he’s nervous and it shoots down to his stomach, unraveling in a mess of knots and panicked waves. He pushes his coffee away form himself on the table. 

“And anyway,” Moonbyul continues. “Free advice – Eonni does a terrible job of thinking about herself. Ever since we were trainees, she’d always put the three of us first. I could tell you stories about how we’d never really know she was sick because she’d push through it or do something stupid and collapse. She’d do even dumber things like stay up with Hyejin when she was throwing up or with Wheein when she broke up with that moron that we don’t talk about because he’s like Voldemort or whatever –”

“I thought you and Wheein were…” he trails off and Moonbyul grins widely, flashing a victory sign.

“Of course we are,” she says easily. “But the past is what makes us, blah, blah, blah. My point though is that you should stop making her sad and tell her that you like her because she likes you and a stupid television show isn’t going to stop you from dating like normal people – you are going to stop yourself from dating like normal people. So hurry up and get over yourself. Or I’m going to introduce her to one of the dumb kids that Wheein or Hyejin knows.”

Eric stares at her, half-awed, more confused than ever. He thinks he’s just gotten some form of approval or permission. It’s a gesture and he’s sort of panicked, even more so, because it makes everything even real outside of their stint on the show winding down and everything else in between. He hears her though: _don’t be stupid_ and he almost says something like _thank you_ but holds himself back from making it awkward. Moonbyul isn’t the one he should be talking to anyhow.

“I won’t make her sad,” he murmurs. He’s serious and settles, reaching for her coffee. He picks it up, fumbles, and then reaches back for his coffee instead. “Or,” he says, swallowing. “I can promise to try my best.”

Moonbyul grins again. She reaches for her phone.

“Good,” she says. “Then I can promise to try my best in not hoping a random tiger comes and eats you or something.”

The thing is he knows that she means that too.

 

 

 

 

 

Eric decides that he is going to make dinner.

His apartment makes the most sense to him, even though it feels like he’s going to open it up to a _real_ date and a first one at that. He sends her a text at the supermarket, deletes it three times before he gets to the meat, and ends up saying something like _leaving in a couple of days – let’s eat?_ because it sounds less presumptuous than what he really wants to say to her.

The reply comes ten minutes later.

_Should I bring anything?_

He releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. His fingers fly across the screen with his address and a reply.

_Just you._

 

 

 

 

 

A couple hours later he comes face to face with the sound of his buzzer ringing through the apartment.

Solar is late. Her text came an hour ago and said something like have to go home and change first – rehearsal and he breathes a sigh of relief, taking the extra time to hide the suitcases he has in his room. Looking at them just feels weird. He ignores the feeling and opens the door to let her in, surprised when he’s greeted by her in nothing but his hoodie – the same one she had from Dubai – and a pair of leggings and sneakers. 

“Hi,” she greets. Her cheeks are flushed from outside.

His mouth curls. “What’s with the hoodie?”

“It felt appropriate,” she answers and steps around him, shrugging out of her leather jacket too. She fumbles with it until he takes the jacket from her, folding it over the arm of his couch.

“Looks better on you anyway.”

“Flirt.”

He smiles and kicks slippers to her gently, heading back to the kitchen as she follows him quietly.

“Do you need help?” she asks.

“Salad?” he answers back, pointing to a mix of fruits and vegetables. She snorts and he smiles a little as she moves to wash her hands. “So you’re having a comeback.”

“Soon,” she says. She moves into the space next to him, by the stove, and starts chopping the cucumbers. Her smile is tired. “And probably a Christmas song. Because in October, you start talking about Christmas.”

He snorts. “Of course.”

They fall into this weird, sort of companionable silence – mostly because he knows that he should have plenty to say, a toss up between a multitude of apologies and an honest conversation about how she feels. But he can’t bring himself to say anything. Maybe it’s selfish, but he really likes the feeling of having her next to him, standing and doing something as stupid and boring as cutting vegetables while he tries to not screw up pasta for her again.

The problem is that he can’t stand the silence either. Not like this.

“You look really pretty right now,” he says, quietly even. He cringes a little; he thinks he sounds awkward. He steals a glance over at her and she’s smiling, but not looking at him. “I should tell you more,” he manages. “But I never know how or think I come off awkward most of the time anyway – it’s like I forgot how to talk when it comes to you.”

Solar laughs. She puts the knife down, reaching over and ruffling his hair. He glances down and she’s standing on her toes to reach him.

“Idiot,” she says affectionately.

She studies him. Her head tilts to the side.

“I know Byul-ah threatened your life,” she says. Amusement colors her voice as he flushes and sighs, shaking his head. “Sorry about that,” she tells him.

“I would do what she did too.”

Solar raises an eyebrow. “Threaten yourself with tigers?”

“And snakes,” he mutters, shuddering. “Especially snakes.”

Solar laughs delightedly, hitting his arm. She moves back to the vegetables, resuming her chopping.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly.

“I know.” He hesitates. “I just – I don’t know where to start?”

She shakes her head. “You were only being honest.” She puts the knife down, looking up at him. “We’re existing in this place that feels like reality sometimes and then this weird fantasy – one that what we forget, you know?”

“Sure,” he says. He feels a little disappointed; it feels like she’s letting him go. Maybe he’s missed a window. 

But she’s _here_ , he tells himself.

Solar remains quiet for a moment. She resumes chopping only to stop. Her hand hovers over the knife and then she turns to look at him.

“I like you,” she says frankly. Her mouth thins into a line. “I like you and I know that you like me too and it’s weird and hard and we should be saying this to each other in a different setting, but –”

She stops, stepping closer to him. Her hand drops over his arm.

“I just don’t want to like you in … just this setting. You know?”

His heart launches into his throat.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and he realizes that he’s been silent, maybe for too long. Her face is warm. “Did –”

He bites his lip. “I just feel like I’m saying goodbye to you,” he confesses, here and finally. He steps away from the stove and over her, his hand dropping against her arm. “I don’t like that I feel that way especially when I like you _too_ and don’t really know how to articulate it… does that make sense?”

She’s quiet, but doesn’t step away. Her gaze remains steady. He has a lot to learn, he tells himself. He watches as her eyes brighten and the corners of her mouth start to tug. He can’t tell what kind of smile he almost gets from her; it feels important.

“Do you –” She hesitates, as if she were choosing her words carefully. “Do you want to say goodbye to me?”

“No.”

The answer leaves his mouth before even has time to realize what he’s gone and said. The kitchen becomes incredibly silent then. The pasta on the stove crackles and there’s the sound of her elbow pushing back from the counter and against the cutting board, the knife slinking into the counter. 

He’s aware of every detail; it’s overwhelming. This is a mess and she deserves some sort of finality, some sort of _this is how I feel_ declaration but he doesn’t know how to start. Because she steps into him – not quite into him, but close enough where he knows he can’t say anything stupid or turn away or hide because this is _his_ house and _his_ space and running away would just make him a coward. He doesn’t want to be a coward when it comes to her.

“I don’t,” he adds, more clearly this time. “I’m having a hard time thinking about it too. I think while the trip was amazing and wonderful – it just made think about all the things that I _really_ want to do with you and could I do it with you? After all of this? Would you even want to do it with _me_? Like – ” He laughs nervously. “I obsess over these things, you know? And it sucks because I feel like I’m letting you down in some way and there’s no time to talk about these things because you have your commitments and I have mine and all I want to do is tell you, over and over and over again that I like you –”

Her mouth covers his.

Out of the millions of times – and there have been _that_ many – he’s thought about kissing her, wanting to kiss her, he’s always thought he’d be the one. He’s always been pretty clear about wanting to know her and getting to know her through the context of the show; and maybe his feelings have been more transparent than he realizes it, but this completely kicks the ground out from underneath him.

Her mouth is warm. She’s standing on her toes again, her fingers digging into his forearms. Her balance is shaky and he holds it together, maybe just barely as his arms manages to stay turned towards her hands. He doesn’t know how to understand what she tastes like – warm, soft, not sweet. His tongue presses over her lip and he thinks that bites back at some coffee. But she’s kissing him, like _actually_ kissing him, and the understanding progresses as his arms turn and his hands fall onto her waist, wrapping around them and pulling her against his chest.

“Just promise you won’t get eaten in the jungle,” she murmurs against his mouth and he laughs, flushing when she smiles into kissing him again. The heat crawls against the back of his neck.

He draws back, dropping his forehead against hers.

“I’ll try not to,” he breathes and she laughs, leaning into him and biting at his lip. “But what about dinner –”

“You talk too much,” she murmurs.

And she lets him kiss her this time, slowly, thoughtfully, with every sense of what he wants to say and doesn’t know how to just yet. He kisses her with apologies and affirmation and it’s stupid and simple and later, he might say something cheesy like, “I might not be able to think of my kitchen the same way.”

Solar laughs at that and he likes, honestly, how much the sound brightens his space. He doesn’t need it to be perfect.

It all feels like enough of an answer anyway.


End file.
